


Yossi

by sfaradclaude



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Trigger warnings:, World War I, hope u like it !!!!! its so short im so sorry but-, im a dumbass who cant english, joe is dead thats why its major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfaradclaude/pseuds/sfaradclaude
Summary: In the aftermath of WWI, a young German who grieves the death of his lover in France meets a mysterious Frenchman who visits Joseph's grave to lay flowers.Loosely based on L'homme que j'ai tué, Ernst Lubitsch, 1932.





	Yossi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girafe13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girafe13/gifts).



# 1.

Mein Liebe,

Ich vermisse dich. I miss you.

I’m happy you were judged inapt to serve our army. This is hell. If your memory was not burned into my flesh and my very soul, I would not be writing this letter. You are what keeps me going. I see you when I sleep, I feel you when I fight, I remember you in my sorrow. Fighting is hard, many die. All hopes are gone. Some men even rioted and got executed. In these times, I can only find comfort in your distant silhouette and your scented letters.

I can’t think of any nice poem to write; I feel like war took it away from me. A man named David whom I met at the infirmary read me poems, to make me forget the pain in my arm, but it felt awful, tasteless, loveless. Perhaps the only poetry that still exists now are your soft touch. I still vividly remember them, I can fell at any instant. I can feel your calm breath on my face, I can almost turn my face to meet your lips.

You accompany all of my dreams, all of my movements. I stay alive for you. I love you.

P.S: Tell my parents I miss them too and send them my warmest hugs. 

Your Yossi.

 

# 2.

Edward did not know why this man kept showing up. He was always here, at approximatively 2 p.m, watching the grave, calm and peaceful. He just stood there, between Hebrew inscriptions and people reciting the Kaddish in a murmur. He was pretty sure he never saw him before; he was pretty sure he was not a known friend of Joseph. Babe never actually worked the courage to ask who the stranger was, until he did.

It was a Friday, when Edward entered the Jewish cemetery of Schwangau, where his deceased lover was buried, among his family, among his faith, among his people. Babe was glad his body was found; he could not imagine ever learning to mourn him, not knowing where he was and knowing he was not properly resting.

It was 2 p.m, a calm, peacefully time. People were usually eating at this time, or maybe studying. It was not common for people to be out, except rare cases.

The stranger was standing, hovering over Joseph’s grave. His face was calm, with a hint of sadness. But he was not crying, he was quiet. Edward once felt repulsed by this stranger who was constantly perched over the Jewish man’s tomb, but as time went by, Edward started to feel pity for him. Joseph must have been important to him, for him to come every day and to stay there for hours sometimes. If he first decided to give him space, Edward felt that he owned the man a properly introduction: everyone who is Joseph’s friend is also Babe’s.

He carefully approached the stranger, carefully not to disturb him too much. “Hallo”, he softly started. “Wer sind Sie? Warum habe Ich Sie niemals gesehen? Sind Sie ein Freund von Yossi?“

The dark-haired man looked at him with wide, perplex eyes. “Je ne comprends pas ce que vous dîtes.”

Babe frowned: “Vous êtes Français? Que faîtes-vous ici?”

The man smiled when he understood that Babe could speak French with a certain ease. “I am a friend of Joseph’s. I came here to pay my respects. I am sorry to bother you.”

“You don’t. I was just surprised. I did not know Joseph had any friend in France. How did you meet him?”

“War. We spent some time together. At the infirmary. I was a doctor. I nursed him once. We bounded.”

Babe nodded. The thought of Joseph being hurt felt like a stab to his heart. “How was he. I mean, during the war? How did he appear?”

The French doctor thought for an instant. “Frightened. He was scared. He was hurt. Not just physically, but mentally. You were his last hope.”

“What?”, the man’s last words struck Babe: how did he know him, his relationship with Joseph? Did Joseph tell him? His Yossi, who was always so shy about it, speaking about it to a stranger? “How do you know me?”

“Letters. I think they were addressed to you. You match the drawing he made, the description he did of you, when I watched over him at my infirmary. He kept them on him at all time, because he could not properly send them. He asked me to bring it to you.”

The stranger took out a pile of letters out of pocket, kept nicely together with a red ribbon. “Take them, they’re yours.”

Babe too, them delicately, almost weakly. Seeing his name handwritten in Joseph’s cursive tortured him; he felt overwhelm with desolation. He kept them in his hands for a few minutes, watching them as if they were the most sacred things on earth, and hid them in his jacket pocket. He would read them later. “Thank you.”

 

# 3.

They talked, and they talked. First, they talked about Yossi, but eventually, they started speaking about each other. Edward learnt the man was named Eugene Roe, that he was a French doctor, born in Clermont-Ferrand to two bourgeois parents who loved him tenderly and only wished his best, that he spent his childhood studying science for fun, and that he eventually went to a medical school in Paris, and became a doctor in the French army when the conflict broke out in August 1914. He tended to British, French, German, Austrian soldiers, listening to their laments with attentive ears, nursing them back to health, and eventually saw them die on his beds or found them dead in a bombshell hole.

They mainly spoke in French, a language they both knew, Gene because it was his native language, and Babe because his aristocratic upbringing taught him to. It was their bonding link. A reminder that they were neighbours, cousins, friends despite the terror the war brought.

“You should come meet Yossi’s parents. They would love to meet you. Would you wish so?”

Eugene seemingly hesitated, then nodded. “It would be a pleasure. I owe them a visit and facts about their son in war. Tales of how brave he was, of how nice he was.”

“Wouldn’t that be lying?”

“Let’s say, exaggerating the truth. Parents need to hear that.”

“You’re right. Especially his. I don’t think they could ever mourn him. His death is making them sick and weak, even though they try to hide it for his younger sisters. Meeting you would make them happy. You would keep his memory alive.”

“I think you already do so.”

 

# 4.

“Frau Liebgott? Ich habe ein Gast gebracht! Er ist ein Freund von Yossi. Er hat ihm während des Kriegs getroffen und er möchte Sie auch treffen, um zum Yossi zu sprechen.”

“A mekhaye! Bringen Sie ihm in! Es ist immer eine Freude, um Freunden von Yossi zu treffen. Wie heiβt ihm?”

A middle aged, bright woman came out of a nearby room, an apron neatly tied around her waist, and her hair hidden by a colourful veil. She was smiling, but her eyes always had a veiled glimpse of sadness in them. Babe smiled brightly at her and kissed her on both cheeks when she came towards him to great her guests. She stopped in front of Eugene, and watched him closely, with a soft smile.

“Das ist Eugene, er ist ein französischer Arzt, dem Yossi gesund pflegen hat.” The woman gently smiled at Eugene, and took his hands in hers, with the gentleness of a mother. “Danke sehr. Danke. Für mein Yossi.” Eugene smiled at her and brought her hands to his lips, in a respectful welcome. They stayed like that, in silence for a few seconds, but the Jewish woman eventually took a step back. “I muss nor den Essen zu kuchen. Es war ein Freude, um Sie zu treffen, Eugene. Bitte bleiben für den Shabbat Essen, ja? Mein Mann möchtete auch Sie zu treffen.” And without waiting for an answer, the woman left them in the lobby.

“Are you going to stay for dinner then?”, Babe asked him. He was hoping for a positive answer. Eugene’s presence was comforting, and it was the first time he felt so good since Joseph’s death.

“It would be a pleasure.”

 

# 5.

“Did you enjoy the evening”, Babe gleefully asked, stepping closer to the French man. The man smiled back at him. “Very much so. I loved talking to you. I feel like I know you.”

“Did Joseph ever talk about me?”

Eugene thought for a bit; “Yes. Not very openly, but he trusted me enough to talk to me about you. He loved you very much.”

Babe blushed at the thought of Joe excitingly talking about him and praising him to another person. And for once it did not make him sad. “I’m glad I met you. You’re a good man, Eugene.”

The man smiled, but not as bright as before. “I will go home soon. I’ll buy a train ticket tomorrow, to go back to Paris. I delivered the letters, I felt like I have nothing left to do here.”

“Stay with us ( _but he meant me_ ). We ( _but he meant I_ ) need you. Me and the Liebgotts. You made them ( _but he meant himself_ ) happy tonight, when you talked about Joseph ( _not even when he talked about Joseph, just when he spoke, just when he smiled, just when he was there_ ).”

“I can’t. Gosh, no, I can’t. I can’t even look at you anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

Eugene dramatically stopped in his track, and turned Babe towards him, his hands on his shoulders in a firm embrace. “I owe you the truth. I can’t escape my guilt and my sorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am no friend of Joseph. I’m nothing but the man who killed him.” Babe froze. “I was not a doctor in the war, I enlisted as a soldier. It was in a French town I Don’t even know the name of. The Germans launched an offensive on our lines, and we had to defend ourselves. Ultimately, the battle continued in the no-men-land. It was awful, hell on earth. Everything was chaos and gore. I sought shelter in a shell hole, and Joseph also jumped in that hole. It was him or me. I looked at him, and I shot. I was so panicked I did not even shoot right. I stayed by his side when he died, that’s true, because I missed his heart and felt guilty about shooting him. His rifle was not charged, he wouldn’t have shot. But I didn’t know that. I watched him agonize and had to do so with the fact that it was my fault. When he finally died, I stayed and watched over his body. I found the letters in his pockets, and I read them all. That’s how I know about you. I just wanted to meet his loved ones, to feel less guilty, to perhaps find reassurance, but you don’t deserve a lie, as romantic as it is. I hope you can ever forgive me. I’m sorry Edward.”

“ **No**.  **Goodbye**.  **Please never come here again** ”, were the last words Babe spoke.

 

# 6.

He felt foolish, sitting near the lake, just watching the water gently flow. He used to sit here, with Joseph, with his friends, his family. Now this place just seemed gloomy, bathing in moonlight, without anybody in sight. He should feel relax and drown in the lovely memories of him and Joseph sitting here, but he did not have the force.

In fact, he did not think he could ever think about Joseph without feeling guilty and shameful.

Because he was angry at him, somehow. Angry at him for dying, for not being there for him, for letting Eugene into his life. It was selfish and undeserved for, but he could not help but hate Joe for letting him fall for Eugene. “If you were there, I wouldn’t have done such a thing”, he kept thinking. Truth was, he just needed a scapegoat for his naivety and tendency to fall in love too easily and too intensively. It was the same thing with Joseph, really. When he saw him for the first time, a malicious grin on his face, a kippah neatly replaced on his skull, bloody knuckles and some lowlife thugs on the ground, he felt enamoured immediately. And when he came to him, and asked all about him, it was love at first sight for sure.

“You’re a fool. You know he killed Joe and you’re still here, debating whether or not to go to Paris with him and just accept his apologies and start a passionate love story. And he just met you. How can you be so stupid, and naïve?”

Silence. He did not know the answer.

The water suddenly felt warm and welcoming.

Why not bath? What, who was waiting for him to come back so soon anyway?

 

# 7.

He stayed bedridden for three days after he tried to drown himself.  _He did not mean too_ , he explained the Liebgotts who were merciful enough to house him for a little while, as to avoid his parents’ wrath. Mrs. Liebgott just sadly smiled at him, and Mr. Liebgott said he understood, and that everyone missed Joe. He did not have the heart and the courage to tell them that it was not even Joe’s disappearance that brought him so much despair, at least not directly. He felt ashamed.

 

# 8. 

“We never hear from Joe’s friend anymore”, Mrs Liebgott once told Babe.

“He’s maybe busy. He’s a doctor, back in Paris. It must take a lot of his time.”

“You should try to contact him. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

“Sure. I can try. I’d tell him you miss him. See if he can come by someday.”

The room felt silent for a moment. “He was good for you.”, she suddenly said. “He made you happy, I could see that. You looked at him the same way you looked at Yossi when he was still here. You have the right to move on, to go with him. Joseph would have loved that for you.”

Babe did not answer. He did not know what to answer. Mrs Liebgott was right; he needed Eugene in his life, to get back on his feet, and because he liked him. But the Liebgotts did not deserve to see their son-from-another-woman be with the murderer of their beloved Yossi. He was glad that Eugene did not contact them for this reason. Babe knew he would have confessed, and the Liebgotts cannot take another heartbreak.

So perhaps he’ll go to France. Perhaps he’ll stay in Germany. If he was true to himself, he longed to go to Paris, but loving the man who killed Joe felt conventionally wrong, immoral, and like a blaspheme to Joe’s name.

 

# 9.

He eventually decided to go to Paris. He thought a lot about it. And he decided he needed to move on, to eventually see someone else. Eugene had been nothing but sweet to him, and Babe thought he saw in this gentleness maybe a spark of love too? That is the optimistic state of mind he was in, when he took the late-night train going to France, at least. Hesitation and sorrows were far behind him for once and he started to interpret life differently.

When he arrived in Paris, his very first reflex was to look for Eugene. The Louvre could wait, he thought. He started asking around, he walked around Paris trying to find his office, he even went to uncles of uncles of cousins’ parties to try to get any information that he could on Eugene.

“Eugene Roe? Why yes, I do know him, he’s my doctor. A very fine young man, very professional.”, an old lady answered Babe.

“Do you know where to find him?”

“I believe his office is near the Palais Royal? I never actually went there, I called upon him every time.”

“Nonsense Mathilde!”, a young man approached them. “I can’t help but overhear your conversation. You’re looking for one Eugene Roe, right? He’s at the Boulevard Saint-Michel. But he’s absent for the moment.”

“What? Why so?”, the lady continued.

“What, you did not hear? The marriage with Miss Martin is next month, the boy needs to be fully ready, the Martins are high on etiquette.”

“He’s getting married?”, Babe finally spoke, his voice suddenly weak.

“He was promised to Miss Martin when he was just a child, I believe. They’ve always had a great relationship, and they did not rush it that much. They took their time, and now they’re fully ready. Rumours say they might even expect a baby, though I wouldn’t pay it to much attention, that’s just ridiculous gossip to me. Although, you seem to be acquaintance with Mr Roe, don’t you? Is it true? Do they expect a baby?”

“I… I don’t know, actually. I only met him once. I did not know he was going to get married, but I’ll send him a letter to congratulate him. Now, if you would please excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

Paris suddenly was dull and grey. Lonely and tasteless. And Babe too.

 

# 10.

Dear Magda,

Paris is wonderful. Life here is sweet, calm, nothing Germans teach you about it. Everyone is very friendly. I visited the Louvre again last week, for they brought a new Egyptian artefact some weeks ago. It was fascinating.

I miss you all very much, but I am well accompanied. I am still with Eugene. His presence makes me feel at ease and he reminds me of Joe. We sometimes talk about him, with adoration and nostalgy. But I do feel better, your advice still resonates in my head, and I am thankful I followed it. I’ve never been happier since 1918.

I will come to visit you alone soon, Eugene is too caught in his work as a doctor.

I wish you the best, from Paris with love,

Your Edward.

 

# 11, BONUS.

Dear Edward,

I know you've repudiated me. Everyday is a guilt I can't bear, to know I've hurt you, your family. I hope someday you'll forgive me, I can't live with the thought of you hating me. 

I hoped I had the courage to post this letter, to go back to Germany, to see you, to tell you all of this, but I'm nothing but a coward and a murderer. Everyday I pray for the salvation of my name in your eyes to G-d.  You're charming in every way, and I couldn't bear to only feel hate and rage in your eyes when we last saw each other. I know the tragedy I placed upon you and Joseph's parents, but if this is what it takes to meet you, maybe I'll do it again. That does not mean I am proud of what I've done, but the way you took my hand at the cemetery was worth every bullet I shot. If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it would have been worth it. 

My only hope is that you are better now, that you forgot me, and that you could have grived Joseph correctly. I hope you found someone else, that you are happy now and that you will somehow have the heart to contact me again.

Je vous aime et j'ose espérer que vous ne m'en voudrez pas éternellement,

Eugene Roe.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:
> 
> \- Yossi is a pet name for Joseph in Hebrew/Yiddish :)
> 
> \- “Hallo. Wer sind Sie? Warum habe Ich Sie niemals gesehen? Sind Sie ein Freund von Yossi?“: Hello. who are you (formal form)? Why have I never seen you before? Are you a friend of Yossi's?
> 
> \- “Je ne comprends pas ce que vous dîtes.”: I don't understand what you're (formal form) saying
> 
> \- “Vous êtes Français? Que faîtes-vous ici?”: You're French? what are you doing here?
> 
> \- “Frau Liebgott? Ich habe ein Gast gebracht! Er ist ein Freund von Yossi. Er hat ihm während des Kriegs getroffen und er möchte Sie auch treffen, um zum Yossi zu sprechen.”: Mrs. Liebgott? I came back with a guest. He's a friend from Yossi's. He met him during the war, and he'd love to meet you too, to talk about Joseph.
> 
> \- “A mekhaye! Bringen Sie ihm in! Es ist immer eine Freude, um Freunden von Yossi zu treffen. Wie heiβt ihm?”: Wonderful (yiddish)! Bring him in! It is always a pleasure to meet Yossi's friends. What's his name?
> 
> \- “Das ist Eugene, er ist ein französischer Arzt, dem Yossi gesund pflegen hat.”: This is Eugene, he's a French doctor, who brought Yossi back to health/who nursed Yossi.
> 
> \- “I muss nor den Essen zu kuchen. Es war ein Freude, um Sie zu treffen, Eugene. Bitte bleiben für den Shabbat Essen, ja? Mein Mann möchtete auch Sie zu treffen.”: I still have to cook. It was a pleasure to meet you, Eugene. Would you be kind enough to stay for Shabbat diner? My husband would love to meet you too. 
> 
> \- "Je vous aime et j'ose espérer que vous ne m'en voudrez pas éternellement": I like/love you (in French, aimer means both like and love, so it's ambiguous, you choose what he meant, depending on the angst you want. I personally thought of it as a "I like you (as a friend or comrade)"), and I dare to hope, that you'll forgive me on day. 
> 
> Also, the end might be unclear (and I apologize for it), but for those who did not understand: Eugene is getting married to a girl. Babe lies in his letters to the Liebgotts and pretends he's with Eugene (why? Your choice ;) To have an excuse not to go back to Germany because he has nothing left there, or because he needs to be with Eugene some way or another, maybe something else? It's an open ending) and stays in Paris, alone.


End file.
